constant, sure
by B. Murakawa
Summary: Jenni Jones-Brown has always been a good girl. Getting pregnant at nineteen was not part of the plan.


Notes: This is actually an "intermission" in a larger storyline that I have on my blog. _That_ story's summary: "Pearl Watson accidentally killed her parents in a car accident six months ago. The strange man who bought their house has now hired her as an assistant ghost hunter. Can Pearl lay her own ghosts to rest before they destroy her?" Anyway, Jenni Jones-Brown, a pre-made Sim in Twinbrook, is a major character and I wrote this to flesh out her personality and motivations. Figured it sounded pretty good as a stand-alone piece, so here it is.

If you'd like to read the entire story, visit http: / legacycrash. wordpress. com

**Intermission: constant, sure**

Jenni is a good girl.

This is what she has been told all of her life. Mostly, she has lived up to it. It isn't hard, because she has a sweet, easy-going nature that people really like; she's never been lacking in friends. Even when her parents got divorced, she took the blow with her typical placidity, comforting both of them and letting her own tears fall in private.

And she told herself all through high school that she wouldn't let herself fall into the same rut the other girls were running full throttle for–she would focus on her schoolwork, on her family. She would be successful and productive. She would find her own way in the world. Make her parents proud to claim her.

The first time she saw Goodwin, he was volunteering at the hospital. Jenni's mother was being held overnight after yet another nervous breakdown. Jenni herself was curled up in one of the waiting room chairs, tired of watching her mother sleep but not willing to leave her mother entirely alone. She saw Goodwin pass through the hallway twice before she recognized him; they'd been going to the same schools since kindergarten, but he looked so different in his hospital scrubs. So grown up, his blond hair (so pale it bordered on white) messy and constantly falling in his face.

She saw him again in the hospital cafeteria in the early hours of the morning. He was eating cereal out of a plastic bowl, his eyes tired and unfocused. Jenni didn't think that students were supposed to work such long hours, but there he was. Maybe someone he loved was there, too.

"Hey," he said as she walked by him. "It's Jenni, right?" His eyes were so blue it hurt to look at them. "You can sit here, if you want." And he nodded towards the chair across from him.

So Jenni sat there with her granola bar, and she asked him about school, and he said that he was enjoying his Digital Art class, and Jenni said that she'd taken it the year before. They talked for a long time. Goodwin was a slow eater, but Jenni never moved to get up, even though it only took her about three seconds to finish her own breakfast. A little milk dripped from his spoon down his chin and Jenni was embarrassed to find how much she wanted to lick it.

After that, they started talking whenever they ran into each other at school. Jenni had a meticulously categorized mental list of everything he told her. His favorite color is white. His parents used to live by the sea. He sometimes forgets to change his bedsheets. He likes animals and children and (though she swore to keep it a secret) soap operas.

When he kissed her in the band room, he seemed to like that too. Jenni couldn't look at him, her face on fire. But she let him kiss her again. And again.

They never officially acknowledged that they were dating. Jenni felt that, in a way, she was betraying her ideals. Her grades were still acceptable, but her heart wasn't in her schoolwork anymore. It was in his hands.

"Let's stay like this," he told her, resting his head against her thigh. They met in the park on weekends, just before sundown. The heavy scent of azaleas still linger in those memories she has of that time. "I'm so tired."

He was. The problem was that he tried so hard and expected too much–of himself, of everyone else. He thought that he could save the world.

Jenni wanted to tell him that he didn't have to save anyone, least of all her. For years she had tried to save her parents' marriage, and it hadn't worked. She'd learned to accept people as they are, not how they should be. But part of what made Goodwin so beautiful was his desire to improve on the original design.

(His hands were steady, pressing against her bare skin. His breath on her ear, her neck, made her pant with longing.)

A week before the car accident accident that claimed the lives of Pearl Watson's parents, Jenni stood in the bathroom of the grocery store, shaking uncontrollably. In that instant, as she stared in disbelief at the white plastic tester with its two pink lines, she knew that she was not the good little girl that her parents were so proud of. She was something else, now.

No one can know, she thought desperately, sliding down the wall of the bathroom stall.

She stopped answering Goodwin's calls; at school, she went out of her way to ensure that they never saw each other. When he finally got her alone–in the same band room where he'd first kissed her–she told him that she was dating another guy. An older guy from the city. Someone Goodwin didn't know. No, there was nothing Goodwin had done wrong. Jenni just felt like their relationship wasn't working out. (The look in his eyes chilled her; she couldn't get it out of her mind, that look. It was as if someone had drained part of him out and replaced it with dirty swamp water.)

First her parents were angry. Then they pleaded with her to name the father. When she wouldn't, the household descended into a strained silence that grated at Jenni. Her father came to her room one night, telling her that they didn't blame her. That what was done, was done. But it was time for her to accept responsibility–time for him, whoever he was, to do the same. So Jenni waited for nightfall before she slipped away. Hell, she's nineteen. It's not like they can stop her.

Pearl seemed as frightened as Jenni felt, when Jenni asked if she could stay for a while. That was okay. Jenni already had half-serious intentions of living in the park if Pearl refused her. Under the azaleas. Of course, the blossoms were gone by now. Still, it was the most beautiful place that Jenni could think of; she imagined that the baby would like it there. (But by the time the baby came, those bushes would be black and bare–the grass beneath, dead.)

Her body is heavy. The skin of her stomach is stretched tight–angry red marks are beginning to extend from her belly button. Pearl's home is saturated with the smells of the swamp–a wet smell. Jenni is almost naked on the bed, in spite of the chill air. Heat grows beneath her skin. She's always hot this late in her pregnancy. The baby kicks her ribs and she winces.

Beyond the window, she can see the marshes and the glittering reflection of the early morning sky. "Let's stay like this," and his sky blue eyes held so many dreams it made her want to cry. "Just for a while."


End file.
